Concept deuil

Memory is at best a shattered glass,
The jagged pieces strewn across the floor, and
I don’t have the time or patience to
Fit and glue all the pieces together.

I know it’s there, the memory I seek, and
Eventually it rears its head like an index card in
The card catalog of an ancient library
That holds no books.

I see faces but no names, strangers, and
I tick, tick, tick through the alphabet . . .
Hoping to trigger and cement
A neural connection that sometimes comes.

I used to worry that the lapses
Might lead to the end of me, but
Whatever the state of my mind,
My imagination will create, through my pen,

All I need to know and believe.
What is truly real anyway?
I close my eyes, calm my restless heart, and
The image, recalled, comes into focus:

I see hair the color of the dark chocolate paste under
The outer shell of a walnut and
Feel ghostly tingling in my fingers as fine
Threads of silk pass through them.

A mask of porcelain,
Tinted by a sun
South of the border,
Near flawless.

Eyebrows that come
Together as one when
Left to their own devices
Of natural progression.

A mouth so perfect
It need not speak
To tell me everything
That is in the heart.

And eyes that lead me
To a place of comfort,
Pigmented with hues of the
Mountainsides of Montana,

Reflecting the meaningful
Along with the meaning,
Flashing a sparkle, a glint of
Light from the Big Bang,

Reminding me of everyone
I have ever loved, and
That image will remain
With me forever.

Written by Dan Burns
Dan Burns is the author of the short story collection, No Turning Back, and the novel, Recalled to Life. In addition to writing novels, short stories, and poetry, he also writes screenplays. One of his short stories, Out of Touch, was made into an acclaimed short film. His forthcoming mystery novel, A Fine Line, is set in his hometown of Chicago. Learn more at www.danburnsauthor.com.